


Bonding

by TinyTony19



Series: Sunshine in Our Eyes [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, POV Spencer Reid, Reader-Insert, and you appreciate the effort, bc inclusivity and diversity is important, first meetings but kind of, gender neutral reader, just Reid trying and failing at making friends, mild social anxiety, spencer reid is awkward af and making friends is hard af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25732234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyTony19/pseuds/TinyTony19
Summary: In which you transfer into the BAU, and Spencer Reid is too socially awkward.Alternatively, the failed attempts Spencer makes trying to get close to you. (And the one he gets right.)
Relationships: Spencer Reid & Reader, Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Original Male Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Series: Sunshine in Our Eyes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027032
Comments: 9
Kudos: 122





	1. Bonding

**Author's Note:**

> another attempt at gender neutral reader so no pronouns, kind of first meeting (?), Spencer Reid pining is everything (what an adorable loser), Spencer socially awkward is also everything, mild social anxiety (??), no big warnings except a couple fucks and damns

New beginnings are scary, Spencer Reid understands that more than anything. A fish out of water at school, thriving in all academics; it came naturally to him, but the rest... well being over six years younger than his classmates didn’t make things much easier. It winded him trying to connect with his peers. He gave up eventually, no one bothering to extend a line to him, and when they did, it wasn’t out of good intentions. He learned that new things are terrifying, be ready for the worst.

So when you stride into the bullpen without so much as a notice, no one’s prepared. Not even you, Spencer notices, your hands flexing at your sides. You shove them into your pockets as you politely smile.

“Everyone, this is SSA (First Name) (Last Name), our newest member of the team,” Hotch introduces.

They manage a welcome but introductions are cut short as a new case presents itself with severe urgency. 

_(Garcia whines, unprepared for your arrival. You later reassure her it’s fine, but Spencer deduces you’re relieved by the way your shoulders relax.)_

Oddly enough, the way you ease into their team dynamic is almost instantaneous. Not like the way a puzzle piece fits because that would imply that the team is a set when in reality it is changing; not often but it happens. 

No, your addition is similar to a LEGO brick.

You slip into the role of profiler with ease. You hesitate at first, but your voice does not tremble in the slightest as you offer your own opinions and observations pertaining to the case. You provide them support much like the base of a LEGO model. 

_(Later on, when Spencer divulges this to you, you smack him hard enough he bruises. You equate him to a peach. But you grin, and the ache fades almost instantly.)_

Spencer would go as far as to say he respects you, despite not knowing anything about you at the moment. Your devotion shines through whatever hesitancy you had earlier, and though your debut to them was hurried, your dedication is not lost to the team, prompting them to give you the welcome you deserve.

As a result, they make an effort the next couple weeks. A “united force of camaraderie”, Garcia calls it.

Hotch and Rossi go to you, whether you’re at your desk or called to them. Usually, it’s for an extra opinion on a case because you’re fresh eyes. From his desk across from yours, as he inconspicuously watches you purse your lips, attempting not to smile at your seniors, Spencer realizes you do think differently than the rest of them. It’s slight, but not too obvious. Maybe it’s because you’re new; you’ve only joined a week ago, or maybe it’s because the team has known each other for so long they’ve learned to predict what they’d say. He isn’t sure.

You do your best to answer them before returning to your assigned tasks.

While Morgan normally makes jokes and teases, he switches his methodology with you for reasons Spencer can’t infer. Instead, he manages to include you in whatever he's doing if you’re within the vicinity. You respond in kind before quickly moving on. 

_(Jokes and teasing come soon.)_

In an attempt to naturally get to know you, JJ and Prentiss question you, not like interrogating of course but⎼from what Spencer overhears (he just happens to be within earshot, totally _not_ eavesdropping)⎼sometimes when they border on personal, he notes your swift change in body language. Like they hit a switch: o _pen_ to _closed_. And when you answer them, you never give more information than asked for, quick to redirect the conversation. He’s certain they notice as well, but they don’t push. 

Your gratitude is evident in the soft quirk of your lips.

To his chagrin, Spencer is not as bold as his friends. When you interacted with each other, it was by extension of the team starting it or on the job so mainly professional. He isn’t even sure _why_ he finds it so hard to talk to you. It’s not like you’re intimidating. 

Okay, maybe just a _little_. 

But he won’t let that hinder him. You deserve your spot on the team, and, just like the rest of his team, Spencer wants to do his part in making you feel welcomed.

Which means he has to talk with you, and _not_ just about work for once.

Unlike the rest of his team, however, Spencer has to build up courage, frustrating him more than he’d like to admit because sometimes he misses his chance. For example, this morning: you stood at the coffee maker, burying your face in a book as you waited for it to finish brewing. He recognized the cover immediately but when he opened his mouth to rant to you, he choked.

Spencer Reid _choked_. He never chokes, not when it comes to _books_. But the words died in his throat, not even making it past his lips. Never had the doctor been so baffled with himself. He scoured his memories for signs, anything that would justify his stumble, yet there was nothing that rationalized this occurrence. He didn't have this problem before. At least... not with other coworkers.

He cleared his throat to try again, but, to his dismay, you filled your mug and left.

On the other hand, Garcia is the most upfront with you, which leaves Spencer simmering because he would give _anything_ to have that kind of confidence. Although, he can tell the tech analyst’s friendly demeanor almost… annoys you? No, that’s not right. You don’t outwardly dismiss Garcia when she catches you, and when he says catch, he means _catch_ , as in he witnessed you on multiple occasions going out of your way to avoid the colorful hacker.

A month has passed since you joined the BAU. As he arrives early that morning, Spencer spots you down the corridor, and normally that wouldn’t pique his interest, but the way your eyes sweep the halls in every direction is too much. He snorts, nearly spitting out his coffee.

Curious, Spencer trails after you; he slows his pace, careful to maintain distance so that he would be at the end of the hallway and you at the other. You eventually come to a halt, making him freeze mid-step. His heart drops to his stomach. Oh god, did you notice him following you? Of course you did. You actually completed the FBI fitness exams.

But you don’t turn to him. Instead, you press your back against the wall, and as you peek over the edge, he wordlessly makes his way over. His curiosity overrides any nerves. He leans to peer over your shoulder at whatever you’re tailing and…

 _Ah_ , he gets it now.

At the end of the hallway by the elevators, Garcia stands a vibrant Sphinx among a sea of dark pantsuits and white-collared button downs, tapping her foot as she waits. Spotting the (your favorite color) paper bag in her hand, he thinks it is safe to assume it’s another attempt to get you to warm up to her. The tech analyst purses her lips, pulling up her watch.

“Come on, come on…” You mutter, your eyes flicking down at your own.

Spencer glances at you, unsure of what you are waiting for. A minute passes.

Then Garcia looks at her watch again before letting a frustrated huff. The elevator dings open behind her, allowing her to trudge into the crowded metal box, and the second the door closes over her disappointed pout, you sigh in relief.

The word tumbles out of Spencer’s mouth before he even processes what he’s doing. “Morning.”

You shriek, whirling to face Spencer only to smack into his chest. Though he prides himself in the growth spurt he hit as a teenager, Spencer isn’t at all sturdy and buff as Morgan, so, despite your close proximity, you nearly knock him and his precious coffee over. Luckily, your reflexes are faster than his and you clasp the front of his vest, tugging him into you. He fumbles with his free hand, catching your elbow. “I’m so sorry!”

It takes a moment for you both to compose yourselves. Before Spencer can fully register your hand steadying his wrist, you step back. Something inside him deflates.

"Don't scare me like that," You press your hand over your heart as you start towards the elevator. He follows next to you.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help but watch the whole,” Spencer gestures at you with his coffee cup.

You groan, smashing the elevator button, “Alright, go ahead.”

“Go ahead with what?” His brow furrows. The elevator doors open, allowing you to enter. He hits the button for the BAU floor, and the doors shut with only you two, standing side by side.

“Tell me I’m a bad person, tell me I’m mean or whatever for dodging someone as nice as Garcia. I know you want to,” You grumble, not looking him in the eye.

“I don’t think that.”

The skeptical look you throw him makes him blurt out the words before they could get stuck in his throat. "I mean, it’s clear you don’t _dislike_ Garcia. You give her your full attention whenever she's talking to you, you gratefully accept her gifts despite your obvious discomfort, which seems to spur her on by the way. Actually, you display similar mannerisms with everyone in the team⎼”

Your brows climb your forehead as Spencer digs himself further into the profile hole he made of you. He spills the numerous observations he mentally filed away, and as he rambles he finally understands how his coworkers, probably _every_ person he’s ever rambled to, feel because oh god, now even he wants himself to shut up! Shit, what is he _doing_? Why? How to stop?

It’s one of those moments in life where words are out of his mouth before he realizes this is not the time or place⎼it certainly isn’t _his_ place⎼ for this, to be profiling you the way he is doing right now.

But here we are.

In his head, he’s screaming but it’s too late, and when he finishes seconds later, there’s a beat of silence. You gawk at him. His eyes widen as his chest heaves; his heart pounds like it’s about to break out and escape. 

Then you glare at him, a playful gleam in your eyes. “You've been profiling me, Doc?” 

Oh god, let this elevator break down and drop him. Wait, no, that would kill you too. _Fuck_.

Spencer swallows, his face growing hot. He tells himself it’s because he just embarrassingly gave a near complete profile of you, unwarranted, definitely _not_ because of the way you say his title. He could apologize⎼he should⎼but his mind blanks and anything else he has to say dies as his throat closes on him. He tugs at his collar, turning to face his pink reflection in the elevator doors.

To his relief, you chuckle, “Don’t worry, I’m not mad. Should've expected nothing less from a genius.” 

“Thank you?”

The doors open and you exit. Before you reach the glass doors, Spencer, biting his lip and unwilling to let the first _real_ conversation he has had with you to end, gathers the remains of his confidence to tap your shoulder. You face him, your expression curious as you halt in front of the BAU headquarters.

Clutching the strap of his bag, he stammers, “Do… Do you want me to talk to Garcia? I mean, I won’t tell her we _talked_ of course. I’ll make a suggestion or something⎼make it seem like it’d be her idea⎼I guess. Might help her tone it down, you know? For you?” He cringes at the last bit, his voice octaves higher than normal. God, what is he, thirteen? How he regrets his boldness. 

If you notice, you don’t mention it. Rather, you give him a onceover, and he tries not to squirm as your sharp eyes scan his face, his body language. You’re sizing up his character, profiling him the way he did with you. The difference is he had a month; you have a few seconds. “You’d do that for me?” You question softly.

Terrified his voice will betray him again, Spencer nods. 

“I⎼” You lick your lips, searching for the right words. Then you smile, a _genuine_ smile, not the shy ones you offered to the team before. It's not awkward or polite. This is way better; your eyes crinkle, there's _teeth_ , and Spencer squints, unsure whether to stare or grab his sunglasses in his satchel because _wow, too bright_. 

Both. He can totally do both.

 _I’d do a lot of things for you... as long it’s legal_ , a tiny voice in the back of his head admits. Spencer can’t bring himself to argue.

“I appreciate that.” Oh right, conversing. He shrugs. “No, really. I know that I’m being stupid and irrational⎼” He opens his mouth to protest. Social anxiety⎼any thing that makes you uncomfortable⎼ is most definitely not stupid. But you shake your head at him. “⎼No, I know I am, and I should get over it as quickly as possible but…” You trail off, glancing to the side.

Spencer follows your apprehensive gaze through the glass doors into the BAU headquarters. It’s early morning, people dawdling around the office, calmly going about their morning routine. It lacks the usual organized bustle as people stand in the corners and chat by the coffee machine, while others take calls or type at their laptops with an air of serenity. A rare, mellow day.

Before you can complete your sentence, Morgan speeds past you, bee-lining for the doors. “Sorry to interrupt, but we got a case!”

Spencer sighs. _Spoke too soon._

You both follow behind him without question, leaving your thoughts unfinished, but Spencer catches the impish grin Morgan throws him over his shoulder. He curses under his breath, promises of his friend’s destruction on his lips. 

Just when he was starting to have an actual conversation with you.

Needless to say, eyebrows raise when he drags himself to the round table a couple seconds after you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can’t tell me that Reid pre-prison did NOT love action figures, figurines, LEGO models. He is a total nerd, it’s genetic.
> 
> I just started watching CM since it’s on Netflix. I now love this pipe cleaner with eyes. Can’t tell if I want to caress his lovely jaw or watch him squirm though...
> 
> I am basing this one(?)shot on how I get overwhelmed by friendly people. Not to say I don’t like Garcia, bc I love her, she’s one of my fav characters. But at the same time, thanks, I have mild social anxiety. I remember in my COLL 01 class, this guy was making an effort to socialize with our project group mates with invites to hang out together. I could not even. It was like the first day of class, like, chill, my guy.
> 
> Also, I‘m sad that I can’t imagine Reid with anyone that isn’t not interesting?? Sad bc I’m such an average person so when I project myself, it feels more unrealistic than it already is and hurts just a bit. I favor the idea of him being with like wild ppl, opposites attract, dumbass and smartass, badass and geek dynamics, stuff like that???
> 
> So, the reader’s back story is gonna be hella mysterious and stuff... ;P
> 
> And, I’m really into the idea of a Spencer Reid x Hunter!Reader. May try my hand at a CM x SPN crossover in the future. Only problem is that I haven’t finished SPN...
> 
> I’m accepting suggestions and ideas!! Also, let me know if you want part 2???


	2. Connecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fate says 'fuck you' to Spencer Reid as he tries to talk to you again. Meanwhile, you're working up the courage to talk to him too.
> 
> Alternatively, Spencer's failed attempts to talk to you. (And the one you both get right.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tag/Warnings: fluff, pining. so much pining. Also you’re an awkward loser too lmao. you thought you were cool? nah.
> 
> A/N: Fluffy? Yes. Do I know a lot about chess? No. Did I write over 6k words JUST so I can get a chess scene with Reid? YES. I love chess playing and poker Reid and we deserve more of him! Reid deserves a partner that will play games with him that don’t involve adding to his trauma!!!
> 
> Note that there is no specific Reid era. Imagine whichever Reid you’d like. 

Spencer doesn’t really believe in fate, but if he did, it is really trying him today.

From the beginning of the case, fate seemed to work against him. It wasn’t like he expected anything when he boarded the plane and took the window seat at the table. He pulled out his book as he tried to relax, anxiously waiting for the rest of the team to settle in. 

During your first week at the BAU, by some cosmic coincidence, you picked the empty seat next to Spencer for the first time. You offered him a polite smile, the one he’s grown so used to until approximately 35 minutes and 27 seconds ago. While you seemed to pay him no mind, his mind reeled as he evaluated every possible excuse why someone as chill and mysterious as you (Garcia’s words, not his) would even come within 6 feet of him. He stamped down his analysis immediately. There were more important things to consider. Like the case.

The discussion started, everyone pointing out gruesome details. Spencer didn’t even ask; you were just observant. He wasn’t clutching a tablet like the rest of the team, and it didn’t take a genius to notice he wasn’t big on modern technology. He never tried to hide it. If anything, he prided himself, but he wanted visuals and you happened to be the closest. 

Thinking back, Spencer realized he hadn’t put much thought into the action, his mind preoccupied with leafing through case information when he instinctually leaned into you. 

It was just a slight tilt of his head. To his annoyance, natural light from the window glared your screen. He hadn’t planned to say anything, understandably shy around you, content with pretending, but⎼to his surprise⎼you turned towards him as you angled the tablet away from the window. 

Neither of you said a word, but Spencer smiled at you, grateful for the small gesture.

And when you returned it with one of your own, all of Spencer’s thoughts stuttered to a halt. Only a few seconds at most. It’s not that the world stopped or his heart skipped a beat or he couldn’t breathe because no; none of that happens. But he can’t help thinking you have a nice smile. It’s tightlipped, and practiced the way it schooled your expression. Almost secretive. Like it’s meant to be kept between you and the recipient. He almost feels… honored.

He akins your smile to the Mona Lisa.

Since then, it’s become habitual for you to sit next to each other on the plane. Whether on the couch or in the chairs. Most of the time he didn’t even need anything, you just… sit next to him, doing whatever. 

But _Morgan_ … Spencer’s extensive vocabulary and the best word to describe the older man at this very moment: asshole.

Your eyes meet Spencer’s. The corners of your lips quirk up, in a way that makes Spencer ache to see the toothy grin from earlier, but he mirrors you anyway. You lean down to take your seat next to him. 

Then Morgan calls to you, causing you both to look up at him.

“Sorry, (Your name), do you mind if I sit at the table today?” Morgan cradles a laptop to his chest. “Got some work I gotta finish, ya know what I mean?”

And you, sweet and (frustratingly) polite, not wanting to hinder your coworker who has been nothing but accommodating since you’ve arrived, answer with a shrug, “Of course I don’t mind. Go ahead.” 

Morgan thanks you as he plops next to Spencer. He winks. “Hey, Pretty Boy!” 

Spencer suddenly wishes he was buff, so he could slap the smirk off Morgan’s face. And he’d feel it.

“ _Hey_ ,” Instead he gives him a close-lipped smile, casting a longing glance as you settle on the couch. He tears his eyes away. He spends the rest of the flight reading his book, totally not disappointed. Or irritated.

Apparently, the universe decides that dropping Morgan in your usual seat next to him was not enough. If it isn’t the universe or fate, Spencer is 93.4% sure that Morgan is doing this on purpose, and 67.9% certain he has the rest of the team in on it too as everyone else pairs off and Hotch assigns Morgan and him to check out the crime scene.

He manages to concentrate on the blood and organs splayed across the floor, the metallic odor cutting through any thoughts of you. As he draws to a conclusion, he feels eyes watching him. He shivers, looking up from his crouched position, only to meet Morgan's smug face.

He frowns. "What?"

"Nothing," Morgan walks around him, forcing Spencer to stand so he can further scrutinize his smirk. "You seem pretty… close to (Your name) earlier today, wouldn't you agree?"

Oh. _Oh_.

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there,” Spencer holds up a hand.

“What?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” He holds up a finger, “One: I was not, as you would put it, trying to ‘pick up’ (Your Name)⎼”

 _At least, I wasn’t trying to_ , a tiny voice in the back of his head admits. Spencer dismisses the thought.

“⎼And two: just to clarify, I was trying to…” He presses his lips together, recalling the borderline personal conversation you had earlier, notes of vulnerability more than fresh in his memory. In the time you’ve been with them, you never let any of them into your personal life. Anything outside of work was rarely ever brought up, your past almost a mystery⎼personal bits of yourself completely swept under the rug.

But when he least expected it, you let down your walls (well, more like cracked open a window but still). You trusted him enough to talk about your feelings. It was a small thing, but it made Spencer feel warm inside, knowing that despite the distance between you, you do trust him. Even just a little. Would telling Morgan anything betray that trust?

“I was trying to... connect with (Your Name), okay?” 

Maybe he can’t tell Morgan about your problems, but he can definitely talk to him about his. Technically, he isn’t lying.

As he expected, Morgan raises an eyebrow in question, which prompts him to continue, “You’re all so cool around (Your Name). Everyone else seems to have no problem interacting with them, but I just⎼I don’t know⎼get tongue-tied around them.”

Morgan’s brows shoot up. “You? Tongue-tied?”

“Yes, if not, I ramble about something completely inappropriate,” Spencer sighs, cringing as he recalled this morning with perfect clarity. It’s times like this he wishes he didn’t have an eidetic memory. Purposefully omitting any details of Garcia, he explains to Morgan what happened when he was in the elevator with you. “And then⎼Ow!” 

Did Morgan just smack him? 

“You profiled (Your name)!”

He _did_. Spencer gingerly touches the back of his head as he groans, “I know.”

“You broke the one rule we have for each other!"

“I know!”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Morgan shakes his head at him. “For a genius, you can be pretty dumb.”

“First you physically abused me, now emotionally. Isn’t emotional vulnerability supposed to make me feel better?”

“Do you want my advice or not?” 

Spencer purses his lips. 

Morgan pinches the bridge of his nose, choosing his words carefully. “Reid, from what you're telling me, sounds like you're just being self-conscious. I can’t tell you how to connect with (Your Name) because we all have our own way of socializing, if that makes sense. What I can tell you is, maybe don’t overthink it. Be cool. Obviously don’t go profiling them right in their face like an idiot, but as cliche as it sounds, just be yourself.” 

Be himself. Be himself? Has Morgan _met_ him? 

Then Spencer sighs. He knows, logically, Morgan’s right; there’s no sense in making friends with someone if they don’t like you for… well you. Yet he can’t help but absentmindedly run through the worst case scenarios, terrified at the possibility that you will reject him⎼his friendship. 

His _friendship_. Acquaintanceship... Whatever.

“Despite what other people think, you can be pretty cool sometimes,” Morgan continues as he pats his shoulder, shaking Spencer out of his train of thought. The older man grins. “Not as cool as me, of course but pretty damn close.”

At that, Spencer feels a pressure he hadn’t noticed before lifting off his chest. He sighs in relief, smiling at Morgan. He almost forgets why he held himself back with you in the first place.

They leave the crime scene, the blood and guts spilled across the floor drying behind them as Morgan retorts, “You’re lucky (Your name) didn’t deck you like I did. They wouldn’t hold back.”

“That was you holding back?”

_(They return to the police precinct in one piece, reunited with the others._

_Remember when Spencer wondered why he was so self conscious before? He remembers now._

_It’s because_ you’re fucking cool _.)_

* * *

Spencer doesn’t get a chance alone with you for the rest of the case, which he expects but he’s still annoyed.

And he tries. He manages to catch you in small moments, checking if you’re okay, if you want more coffee. His tone’s soft, hesitant; he’s afraid any other volume may cross boundaries and you’ll retreat back into that mysterious silhouette you’ve upheld. If you notice, you don’t mention it, giving him that Mona Lisa smile everyone’s grown used to. 

God, he can’t wait to get back. Maybe then you’ll show him that grin from before.

Unfortunately, those miniscule periods between developing the profile is all he gets. You get interrupted by one of the policemen or the team, and you’re assigned on separate tasks, whisked away by Rossi. By the time they close the case, everyone is exhausted. 

Spencer himself just wants to lay down and read; he can’t sleep yet, not without trying to push the images of mutilated bodies to the back of his mind. You’d think with all his time at the BAU, he’d be used to it by now.

He is, but it’s a bitch for an eidetic memory. 

When it’s time to head home, Spencer’s last to board the plane. Trudging up the steps, he enters the cabin, withholding a groan when he sees all the comfortable seats are taken. Morgan’s spread-eagle on the couch, Emily and JJ collapse on the recliners, and Hotch and Rossi settle in the rotating seats.

Which leaves the table. Ugh. He can already feel the ache in his neck.

Although, when he makes his way over, he perks up at the sight of you curled up at the window, your head supported by the glass as you nod off. You’re dead to the world by the time he takes the seat across from you.

Spencer studies you, trying not to smile as you snore. The slope of your nose, the rise and fall of your chest, even the way your eyes flicker under your eyelids as you dip into REM. He’s never seen you so… unguarded. Not since joining them. 

Progress. This is progress, Spencer realizes. This is what the team has been working towards with you; slowly but surely, they are chipping at your walls, and one day it’ll all come down, with you on the other side, welcoming them with a full blown grin.

He’ll try to talk to you again later, he decides. Hopefully, he won’t chicken out by then.

Turns out he doesn’t have to. You make the first move this time.

[Originally posted by toyboxboy](http://tmblr.co/ZJE4qx2MT8YvA)

“Whatcha up to?”

For a moment, Spencer thinks he imagined it. Your voice is smooth, distinguished, a strength and confidence behind it that could only come from experience. He’s never heard it soft and raspy from sleep. He looks up anyway. 

You squint at him through heavy eyelids, your hair sticking up and to your face in odd places. You look… cute.

You blink the sleep from your eyes. “Doc?”

You’re conversing with him. Outside of work.

Oh _shit_.

“Uh, morning!” _Is it morning? What time is it?_ Spencer scrambles to sit up, nearly knocking over the captured pieces he set aside. He pushes back his hair. _Why is it hot in here?_ “I’m playing chess.”

You raise an eyebrow, gaze flickering between the chessboard and him. “By yourself?”

“Yes,” He squeaks, feeling the heat rise to his face because oh my god, _you’re talking to him_? And not about work or a case!

 _Progress_ , Spencer cheers. You’re making an effort to talk to him, and it makes his insides fuzzy.

To answer you, he explains how he finished his book hours ago, and with over two hours before they arrive at Quantico, he decided he’d occupy his time with a game.

He skips the part where, at the same time, he ran scenarios in his head, reviewing numerous conversation starters he could use on you when you wake up. Mainly easy subjects he could segue into other topics, ways to keep the conversation light yet engaging. Keep it cool and casual, like Morgan. He mapped it all out. 

If the case hadn’t exhausted him, he is now.

But he didn’t prepare himself for _this_ (he dumps his title as ‘genius’ for his neglect). You started the conversation for once. Now all possible topics, points, ideas he previously had fly out the window. How is he supposed to transition into Ray Bradbury?

Spencer curses himself. Though, to be honest, he’s too excited to feel frustrated because you’re _trying_ to make conversation. With him! 

No, don’t get ahead of yourself, Spence. But he’s proud? He’s not entirely sure. 

If that wasn’t enough, you bite your lip. “Can I play you?” 

… _Huh_?

“I’m no chess prodigy⎼I haven’t played since I was a little kid, so I’m a bit out of practice.” 

Blinking rapidly, Spencer, dazed by the fact you play and you want to play with _him_ , takes a good second to process your request. He can’t help but openly gawk at you. 

At his pause, you backpedal. “Or not. I probably wouldn’t pose much of a challenge to you anyway.”

“No!” You frown. Spencer clears his throat, “I mean, yes, I’d love to play. You. Right now.” He's already gathering the captured pieces, dumping them on the board. He presses his lips together, his body buzzing as every molecule of enthusiasm dissolves whatever fatigue he felt previously. _Be cool_. “It’d be nice to play someone other than Rossi.” 

It doesn’t take long to reset the board, pieces clacking against the wooden surface as you snatch up the black pieces and place them in their designated squares. Knee jumping under the table, Spencer would like to think he's maintaining a cool exterior as Morgan advised, but at the rate he's replacing his bishops and rooks, he's sure that ship has sailed. 

He doesn't care. As long as he gets to verse you.

Overwhelmed by his own excitement, Spencer doesn't notice how you set your side with the same vigor. You match his speed if not faster, placing down your knights and queen with familiar ease. _You’re excited too_. 

And so the game begins.

Spencer offers you the first move, and you wave him off, insisting you’re not that rusty (“I appreciate the thought, Doctor, but I don’t need first-move advantage”). The smirk you send him, while not the grin or the Mona Lisa smile from before, knocks the air from his lungs and nearly sends him overboard. He almost fucks up his turn. He’s quick to recover though, and, eventually, you fall into a comfortable silence, chatting idly as you both stare down the board, conviction and thrill burning in your eyes. Neither of you try to hide it. 

Half an hour in, Spencer realizes he’s in trouble.

Chess pieces scatter across the board, a strategic mess of black and white and Spencer is _sweating_. He should have won by now. 

Yet he hasn’t, and it makes him nervous.

He glances up at you, hoping to catch a glimpse of stress or worry on your face. Any sign that he’s got you on the ropes. Hell, Spencer will take cockiness at this point. But his stomach drops. Your expression is a perfect mask, poker faced as you gaze at the chess pieces with what he could only interpret as mild interest, as if this was any other board game like _Monopoly_ or _The Game of Life_.

Not to be crude, but what the fuck?

Spencer’s good at chess. He knows that. The team knows that. He’s faced Gideon and Rossi for years. But he knows them; he's profiled them and predicted their next move with confidence, and while they’re not an open book, he learned to interpret them as any doctor would when analyzing data. 

But not with you. He doesn't know you that well. Not yet. 

Just when Spencer thinks he knows your next move, you seem to do the exact opposite of what he expects, constantly making him rethink his own strategy as he tries to understand what game you're trying to mimic. Your play. Trying to figure you out is like guessing the inside of a mystery box he'd find in store. 

He wants to know everything about you. For chess strategy purposes, of course.

Time flies quickly. Neither of you care as the plane, the rest of the team, fades into the background like white noise, leaving only Spencer and you in the room, the chessboard the one thing separating you. You’re floating over 41,000 feet above ground in your own little bubble, pretty and comfy as the world passes by. You find yourselves not wanting to go.

Neither of you show signs of hearing the pilot’s voice over the intercom; they’re arriving in Quantico shortly, and it isn't until the plane gently begins its descent, when Spencer plummets back down to Earth.

Morgan struts past, "Better wrap it up, you two, we’re landing soon."

Spencer’s head shoots up in attention, just in time to see you sit up and stretch, letting out a content sigh, "That's fine. I was losing anyway." You look back at him. "Good game, Doctor."

 _Hell yeah it was_. Instead, he stammers a pathetic, “Yeah, you too.” ‘Yeah, you too’? Is that even an adequate response? 

But it hits him. This moment between you, a few hours after an exhausting case where both of you were nearly too tired to interact, a moment that felt like they could’ve gone forever if they wanted yet ended too quickly for Spencer (and for you, you lament silently), is coming to a close. This is the end. The pretty bubble surrounding you two has burst, and you are _leaving_.

Well, not yet anyway. Spencer watches in dismay as you begin packing up, starting with your captured pawns. The sounds of chess pieces clicking and clacking against the surface, once bringing him a sense of satisfaction only seconds ago, now grates his ears and grips his heart.

For a moment, he forgets to breathe.

And Spencer, with that big brain of his, come to several realizations: 

  1. He doesn’t want to stop this, whatever _this_ is.
  2. He knows if he doesn’t speak now, he never will, and he will never get another chance like this again. Ever.
  3. And, finally, you are seconds away from leaving as you stand from your seat.



With that, he comes to a decision.

You bid him farewell and step into the aisle, turning away from him. Spencer sucks in a breathe, every instinct in him screaming at him to _shut up_ ⎼save himself the embarrassment, but before he can formulate a sentence, you whirl to face him. 

For a moment, you stand in the middle of the aisle. You wring your hands together, your lips parting as you struggle for the right words, staring intently at your shoes like they’ll give you an answer. 

It doesn’t take a profiler to see that you’re nervous.

Spencer jolts when you meet his (nervous) gaze. He’s a deer caught in headlights, your eyes piercing and earnest as you _glare_ at him. You purse your lips, hands clenched at your sides. 

Holy hell, are you mad? Did he upset you? If so, feel free to yell at him. Or punch him for that matter.

“This was fun.” He blinks, his brow shooting up. But he nods anyway because _yes_ , that much is true. This was fun. He had fun, and he opens his mouth to say as such but you continue, “We should do this again sometime.”

Despite your grimace, your voice is sincere and light. Spencer is confused.

But again, he nods and waits with bated breath, enraptured by you; you’re composed yet hell-bent, and he's both scared and strangely attracted to you right now.

_(It’s not strange, he realizes a little later on in your lives.)_

You give a firm nod, turning to leave. As Spencer remembers to breathe, you face him again, forcing him to straighten up in his chair. 

Your voice is steady as you hurriedly add, “As for your offer from before, I’ll handle it.” Your expression, to his relief, softens, as well as his heart. For the last time, you turn to leave but not before looking over your shoulder at him. Your eyes gleam with an emotion he can’t pinpoint. “But thanks...Reid.”

Then you’re gone. You exit the plane like there’s a fire, and Spencer’s pretty sure he blacks out. For once, aside from work, he’s grateful for his eidetic memory, otherwise he’d think this entire thing was a hallucination.

Because you called him by his name. Not Doc or Doctor. Not even Professor as you’ve occasionally joked with him. 

You addressed him as Reid. His last name, but _his_ name nonetheless.

Fuck.

* * *

Later that day, as the work day comes to a close, he spots you down the hall. He doesn’t comment as he watches you chat idly with Garcia. Well, Garcia is blabbering to you as you listen attentively. You’re nodding and adding small tidbits, interjecting Garcia in a way that sends the colorful woman in a hyper-frenzy as she claps and openly giggles to you. 

But she’s not grabbing at you or making you uneasy, it seems. At least not as much as before.

Spencer smiles. You are trying, and he’s proud you did have it handled. But as he makes his way to the elevator, he tries to ignore the disappointment that washes over him. He shouldn’t feel so discontent. You solved your issue with Garcia, and that’s great. Really.

 _But that means they didn’t need you_ , a small voice whispers in the back of his mind.

Reaching for the elevator button, he pushes away the thought. Before the elevator arrives, he hears Garcia call him. 

She wildly beckons for him to come over. And as eye catching as the woman is, he only seems to notice you.

You’re… Spencer’s not sure how to describe your expression. It’s not unreadable, it’s just different than what he’s grown accustomed to since meeting you. It’s not a full blown grin or that Mona Lisa smile. It’s not even the smirk from the plane. It’s entirely different, a face you never made to him before. And he’d know. He remembers everything.

His extensive knowledge and vocabulary yet all he can think of is: warm. Your expression is warm and welcoming as your shoulders seem to relax at the sight of him. He can’t think of anything else except all the things he associates with a hearth. Like his worn books splayed across his coffee table and his comfy couch and steaming mugs of coffee. Or his antique lamp and his drapes as they shine in the orange light and sway to the breeze from his open window. 

Without hesitation, he makes his way over. Your entire face brightens at his presence.

Spencer decides, as you wave and beam softly at him, that he could spend the rest of his life like this. Seeing, experiencing every expression you make. Memorizing them.

As long as he is there with you, he’d be okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the final part to the sunshine in our eyes double shot. I intend to make it a collection of aus and mini fics with Spencer Reid, who's the real the sunshine in our eyes. This was fun writing. I hate myself for getting the sudden inspo to finish the ending at 2 am but worth being late to work.
> 
> I’m taking suggestions btw so hmu. I have a couple ideas for Reid, and I’m also focusing on Dylan O’Brien. 


End file.
